Trapped and Tortured
by Hazelhex
Summary: Emily is a hardcore fanfic writer - no Mary Sues for her. Then she gets sucked into Potterverse and trapped in the body of Harry's overly gorgeous and powerful twin sister. Will she be able to keep up her OC attitude or will she submit to Sue-osity?
1. Getting There

I lounged back in my seat and sighed luxuriously. It was the weekend, I had completed every iota of homework - except from my art but that didn't have to be in for another two weeks so I really couldn't be bothered with that - and my acutely annoying five-year-old sister, Sally, would be out of the house for the next two hours. The future looked bright.

I stretched my fingers, one by one, and tied my mousy-brown hair up in a messily-done ponytail. I couldn't have it getting in my way while I was typing - if it distracted me while in the middle of an important plot point then it would most likely result in utmost disaster. For me, fan-fiction was a serious business and not to be taken lightly. I wasn't one of those writers who updated when and if it pleased them; nor did I fail to plan out my story in advance. And Heaven forbid that I should write a Mary Sue! I've had nightmares about it, ghastly visions about would happen to my reputation should I create some repulsively beautiful over-powered girl with a name like Lilac-Maria Sphinxia Anastasia Melusine Maelstrom.

No, I was the best and had even been compared to Rowling herself by a few easily impressed reviewers. I smiled inwardly; they had no idea what they were talking about. Despite my dedication to fan-fiction I knew I would never amount to anything as much as JKR had. But imagine! Me, Emily Anne Stephens, a world famous author!

I shook my head free of these dreams and turned my thoughts to the laptop in front of me. I was currently working on a George Weasley story, 'Paper Aeroplanes and Golden Roses', the idea for which I'd been mulling over for the last few months. I hated to publish anything online before finishing off the final chapter; it had always seemed like a betrayal of some kind.

My fingers danced over the keys, describing in vivid detail Sophie's awkwardness, George's outrageous flirting and Fred's way of teasing the two. I'd always had a liking for plain names on my characters - names that fitted in neatly with canon. I'd rather have written about Lord Voldemort's daughter than have a girl called Sapphira or Janiastia; unusual names were one of my pet peeves.

Another would be unbelievable beauty. As a small scrawny fourteen-year-old with eyes that were dark brown and judgemental instead of sparkling blue and skin that was milk-white and decorated with a multitude of freckles rather than smooth and golden-brown, I instinctively felt that anyone gorgeous enough to have the whole male population of the school drooling after them should be Avada Kedavra-ed on the spot. Sophie was tall and gawky, with long permanently-tangled fair hair and a blotchy red-purple birthmark on her cheek that nobody could help but stare at. She wasn't very pretty but she was sweet, kind and loyal - which, in my opinion, mattered more.

Just as I had started to induce a conflict between Angelina and Sophie, I froze. There was an undeniable tickling in my fingers and although this had happened before - I suffered from poor blood circulation which meant that in winter my fingers and toes would often become frighteningly cold and numb - it was rare enough for it to be alarming. I ran over to the other side of the room and threw myself into bed, pulling the covers tightly around me - the sooner I warmed up, the sooner I could get back to Paper Aeroplanes and Golden Roses. I was in the middle of a sentence and I didn't want my flow of inspiration to be blocked in anyway.

But I wasn't warming up. Not in the least - in fact, the tingling feeling was moving through my fingers, past my hands and up my arms. It spread down to my waist and along my legs before hurrying back up my chest where it rested just at the nape of my neck. I tried in vain to wriggle my fingers - but as if there was nothing there at all. I could feel that horrible tickling feeling everywhere except my head and throat and wondered with a sort of absent-minded horror if I was dying. I glanced down at myself in morbid fascination, thinking that perhaps my body would have turned a shade of green or grey, and gasped in amazement at what I saw. I was _gone._ There was nothing below me except the bed and the duvet lying upon it. For a few short seconds I pondered how it was possible for my head to be there in midair with no body below it before realising that the tingling was slowly but surely advancing up my throat and on to my face. If it hadn't already taken over my mouth I would have screamed - but, being alone in the house, it really wouldn't have mattered if I had.

I squeezed my eyes tightly shut as it passed my nose and wished fervently that I hadn't yelled at Sally before she had left with Mum and Dad.

When I next opened my eyes I was somewhere else entirely.


	2. Excessive Description

I was sitting on a swing, in a playground of some sort. My head was bowed, my hands wrapped around the swing-chains, my feet dragging along the ground as the swing swung a little. I sighed mournfully, tilting my pretty face upwards as I turned to look at my brother beside me-

Hold on._ Brother_? I don't have a brother! But as I looked at the boy next to me as I got the same 'sibling' feeling as I did every time I was with Sally. This made no sense at all as I had never seen this boy before - except maybe a version on him in the depths of my imagination. But I just couldn't remember why I'd imagined him… I shiver slightly in the light wind the swept across the playground, the overly large sweater - once Dudley's - hardly a protection against the chill of the evening.

Why do I have a constant flow of narration going through my head? And _Dudley's sweater_? As in Dudley _Dursley_? Oh no … I've read about this … don't tell me I've been sucked into a fanfic? A _Harry Potter's twin_ fanfic? Oh my… But wait. C'mon, Emily, stuff like that only happened in _fanfic_ … it was catering to the masses … it wasn't a _real account_ of something that _truly happened_. Nobody has ever _really_ got sucked into the body of a Mary Sue. At least, I assume I'm a Mary Sue. Most of Harry's twins seem to be. What do I even look like?

And it was as if this was the moment the unknown narrator had been waiting for - a flood of details burst into my head. I have the most beautiful hazel eyes that remind everyone who see them of chocolate and are flecked with green and gold and the green glows brighter when I'm happy and the gold glows brighter when I'm angry. My hair is really long, tumbling down to past my waist, and a deep red and very soft and smooth. My skin is pale like delicate porcelain and never marred with spots or freckles. I'm tiny for my age and slender as a reed - although also so curvy that all boys who see me can't help but drool as if I were some sort Veela. In fact, I do look like I have Veela ancestry in me - except Veela have a common vapid beauty whereas mine is much deeper. My legs-

_Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP! _I screamed internally as the commentary prattled on. _I really don't care about what your stupid Mary Sue looks like_! Every word had been made so much worse by the fact that it was in first-person. I'm a Mary Sue. _I _am a Mary Sue. I, Emily Anne Stephens, fanfic-writer extraordinaire, am a Mary Sue. It was quite possibly one of the most tragic things I had ever heard.

The boy to my left - _Harry Potter_, I reminded myself - looked up at me, smiling softly and I couldn't stop myself from smiling back. I mean that literally, my body was actually forcing me to smile at him or, as the narrator put it, '_I returned the gesture and the gentle expression of comfort and love suited my fragile face perfectly_'. The purple prose was so sickening sappy that I would have heaved had I had any amount of control over this fake body.

My brother was my only relation left in the world who cared for me at all and he was the Boy Who Lived, Harry James Potter, and all knew his name. But few besides the Hogwarts students knew of me, the beautiful Aderyn Lillias Potter, but-

Whoa. Back up there. _Aderyn Lillias_? Whoever came up with that name should be shot. Immediately. Why Lillias? Why not 'Lily'? It'd sound a hell of a lot better and would even fit in with canon! But of course my 'author' - if I was in a fanfic then I definitely would have an author - wanted something that was unusual and that would stand out against of those Susans and Hannahs. Emily was probably far too plain. I suppose I was lucky she hadn't named me 'Emiliana' - a name which made me shudder to even think of.

_So then.__ Let's get a little information_. I glance around the playground, trying to figure where I am in the books or if the author - I've yet to think up a fitting name for such a horrendous writer - has gone off on a complete tangent and I'm now in the 'goffik' version on Hogwarts. There's no castles in sight which suggests that it's the summer holidays and a quick glance at Harry confirms what I'd previously thought. Harry looks around fifteen - which means that I'm at the start of Order of the Phoenix.

I'm just hoping that the author will give up on the story soon so that I can go back home.


End file.
